


it's beginning to look a lot like...

by LiveSincerely



Series: so maybe we’re a work in progress [3]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hanukkah Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveSincerely/pseuds/LiveSincerely
Summary: “Jack?” Tony asks, his voice suddenly taking on a strange tone, placing his toy gently on the table. The tiniest hint of a frown is starting to form between his eyes. “Did… Did Santa bring us anything for Christmas?”Jack freezes. “Santa?”“He did, right?” Tony says, his eyes bright with fragile hope. Charlie perks up at the mention of Santa, turning to look at Jack as well, and there’s so much trust in his expression. So much faith. Jack feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath him. “‘Cause I was really good this year. Charlie was too. So he musta left presents, right?”Or, four monumental holiday seasons in the Kelly-Higgins-Morris household.
Relationships: Crutchie & Jack Kelly, Crutchie & Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly
Series: so maybe we’re a work in progress [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887877
Comments: 95
Kudos: 104





	1. The First Christmas

“Jack!” There’s an excited shout, tiny hands slapping excitedly at his shoulders. “Jack, wake up, it’s Christmas!”

Jack jolts awake. The room is shadowed in blues and grays, the air cool and crisp the way it only is in the very early hours of the morning. Tony is kneeling on the mattress next to him, tugging insistently at Jack’s shirt sleeve.

“Wake up, Jack! It’s Christmas!” Tony says again, eyes wild with joy, shaking Jack once more.

“Christmas!” Charlie echoes, crawling up onto Jack’s bed as well, his hair sticking up on one side from where he slept on it. “Christmas!”

“Alright, alright,” Jack says, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “I’m gettin’ up, give me a sec.”

Jack throws back the covers and swings his legs over the side, then lets the boys lead him into the hallway. Tony and Charlie hop and skip around him like the pair of tripping hazards they are, nearly breathless in their enthusiasm, stopping every now and then to throw Jack a pleading look or pull on his arm, urging him to move faster.

“Jack, are there presents? There are, right?” Charlie asks, his crutch knocking against the baseboards as he wiggles around.

“Or did you forget?” Tony cuts in, his face screwed up in the sort of perfect seriousness that only a six-year-old old can manage. “You can tell us if you forgot, we’ll still love you, promise.”

“I didn’t forget anything, numbskull,” Jack says, ruffling Tony’s hair. “I just knew better than to leave your presents layin’ around ‘cause you’d find ‘em an’ open ‘em early.

Jack wanders over to the cupboard and pulls out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, then goes over to the fridge and grabs a jar of jelly. Behind him he hears Charlie hiss, “See, I told you there was presents!”

“So, where are they?” Tony eagerly asks, looking at Jack like he might whip a couple of gifts out of his pockets.

“Hey, breakfast first, then presents,” Jack says, popping a few slices of bread into the toaster and pulling the lever down. “Don’tcha know ya can’t open Christmas presents on an empty stomach?”

For a moment it looks like Tony might argue, but he obediently climbs up to sit next to Charlie at the kitchen table, kicking his legs impatiently back and forth as he waits.

“Charlie, do you want jelly or peanut butter on your toast?” Jack asks.

“Can I have one jelly an’ one peanut butter?” Charlie says.

“Sure, bud.”

“I jus’ want peanut butter,” Tony announces, like this is new information. “ _Jus’_ peanut butter.”

“I know, Tony,” Jack says with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I won’t let any jelly touch your toast.”

Jack makes quick work of fixing the boys’ food, then reaches into a drawer and grabs a few napkins for them to use, making a mental note to swing by the McDonald’s up the block and grab some more, and maybe a few extra sleeves of plastic silverware while he’s at it.

“What do we think boys?” Jack asks, turning on the tap. “Red cups or blue cups?”

“Don’t we got any juice?” Tony asks. “I want juice.”

“We only have two juice boxes left,” Jack says. “You can have yours now if you want, but then you won’t be able to have any juice with dinner.”

Tony considers this conundrum very carefully. “Yeah, okay. Red cup, then.”

“Red cup for Tony,” Jack repeats, filling up a plastic cup with water and setting it next to him. “How ‘bout you Charlie?”

“Red, please!” Charlie chirps, just as Jack knew he would.

“And a red cup for Charlie,” Jack says, placing a second cup next to him.

Jack fills his own glass, then pops two more pieces of bread in the toaster for himself, leaning with a hip against the counter as he waits for it to finish. Tony and Charlie scarf down their toast like they’re starving for it, clearly eager to get to presents, and Jack calls, “Hey, slow down over there, you’re s’pposed to chew your food before you swallow it.”

“Jack,” Tony whines out the moment he chokes down his last bite. Both sides of his mouth are coated in crumbs and smudges of peanut butter. “Can we open presents _now?_ ”

“Wipe your face,” Jack reminds him, adding a smear of jelly to his own slices of toast. “And your hands.”

“But can we?” Charlie asks, rubbing at his mouth with a napkin too. “Can we, can we, can we?”

“Well, I dunno...” Jack says, pretending to think it over. “Maybe we should wait a few more hours, make sure the Christmas spirit’s really sunk in…”

“Jack!”

“Okay, hold your horses,” Jack says, laughing. “We’ll open presents, just give me a second to grab them.”

He takes a step, then reconsiders. “Hey, close your eyes,” Jack instructs. “Shut ‘em really tight, okay? Peekers don’t get presents.”

Jack waits for them both to cover their eyes, then lifts up on his toes and grabs the boxes from where he’d tucked them into the cabinets above the refrigerator. He pushes Tony and Charlie’s empty plates to the corner of the table, safely out of the way, then places a present in front of each of them. “Okay, go ahead.”

Eyes fly open, then twin gasps of excitement.

The presents are pretty underwhelming to look at, just objectively speaking, if Jack’s being honest. Two boxes wrapped as neatly as Jack could manage in old newspaper—it took several Sundays worth of papers to get enough ‘Comics’ pages to cover both of them—and taped at the corners. But Tony and Charlie seem happy enough with Jack’s mediocre attempts at wrapping and really, it don’t matter what the outsides look like as long as they enjoy what’s inside, right?

Charlie blinks up at him with big, awestruck eyes while Tony shakes his box back and forth, giggling when he hears the contents rattle around inside. “What are ya waitin’ for?” Jack asks, waving a hand. “Go on, open ‘em up!”

Scraps of paper fly in every direction as the boys tear into their gifts.

“Oh, wow!” Tony exclaims, unearthing a toy racetrack and a set of cars from it’s packaging. “This looks like the one on the TV! It’s got the cars and the track with the loop-de-loop and—”

“Thomas the Tank Engine!” Charlie screeches, practically vibrating in excitement. “Jack, Jack, it’s _Thomas the Tank Engine—”_

“—and the cars have the little lightning bolts on the sides! Look, Jack, _look at the lightning bolts!_ Ooh, and it even—”

“—and he _talks!_ Jack, didja hear? Listen, _Thomas talks,_ you just hit the button and—”

“—stickers! Jack, didja see the stickers? Look you can put ‘em anywhere you want—”

“—it makes the noise too! Listen, listen! Jack are you listening? See, there’s a switch—”

Jack’s grin feels like it’s all but splitting his face apart. He’s been more than a little nervous the last few months trying to work everything out, worrying about what toys to get the boys, sneaking singles and bits of change out of Snyder’s booze fund on top of setting aside his own portion of the grocery money this month to pay for them, swinging by the dollar store at peak hours one Sunday and using the crowds to hide the AAA batteries stuffed into his pockets, and finding time to wrap and hide both presents. So to see his brothers so completely overjoyed… the anxious flutter in his stomach soothes and settles.

“So I guess you like the toys, huh?” Jack says when the flurry of chatter quiets down enough for him to get a word in. “Here, give me a sec to get the dishes taken care of an’ I’ll help you get it all open and set up—”

“Jack?” Tony asks, his voice suddenly taking on a strange tone, placing his toy gently on the table. The tiniest hint of a frown is starting to form between his eyes. “Did… Did Santa bring us anything for Christmas?”

Jack freezes. “Santa?”

“He did, right?” Tony says, his eyes bright with fragile hope. Charlie perks up at the mention of Santa, turning to look at Jack as well, and there’s so much trust in his expression. So much faith. Jack feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath him. “‘Cause I was really good this year. Charlie was too. So he musta left presents, right?”

Tony looks around, then seems to realize that there aren’t extra-special Santa presents hidden in any nooks and crannies.

“Well, I thought we was really good. I thought….” Tony’s expression dims. “But, Mr. S says lazy, ungrateful, good-for-nothins don’t get presents from Santa, so I guess—”

“No!” Jack blurts, unable to watch Tony’s face fall any further. “No, Santa did come by, baby, and he left somethin’ extra special for you both. Even better than presents.”

“Better than presents?” Charlie asks, caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. “What is it?”

“It’s… Well, ya see, it’s... “ Jack’s mind races, fueled by an explosive mixture of buzzing adrenaline, icy panic, and a fundamental need to _fix._ “Last night, while youse were asleep, I was up gettin’ a drink and I saw Santa.”

Tony’s eyes go wide. “You saw Santa?” he gasps.

“I sure did,” Jack says, nodding sagely, making it all up on the spot. “And you what else? Santa gave me a message.”

“A message from Santa?” Charlie squeaks.

“That’s right,” Jack says. “Santa wanted me to tell you that he’s been keepin’ a close eye on you both an’ that he’s real proud of how good you’ve been all year. He said that you’re right at tippity tip-top of the nice list and that Snyder is just jealous ‘cause he’s got a permanent spot on the naughty list for bein’ a mean old grouch.”

This earns a flurry of giggles. “What else?” Tony demands. “What else did Santa say?”

“Santa said that, since you and Charlie were so good this year, he wanted to give you something extra super secret and special. Something that only the two of you get to have, out of all the kids in the _whole, entire world,"_ Jack says, keeping his voice in a dramatic hush. 

“What is it?” Charlie asks, and he’s whispering too, thoroughly caught up in the story. “Jack, what is it?”

“Santa gave you…” Jack pauses for effect. "Permission to _break the rules.”_

Jack gets a pair of blank stares in response. He hurriedly continues, “See, ‘cause other kids have to be on their best behavior on Christmas day: they gotta put on their itchy sweaters and, and their collared shirts and pose for a million photos until their faces feel like they’re gonna fall off. And they got to sit at the table and eat dinner all polite like while the grown ups tell boring stories about taxes and stuff. ‘Cause that’s what Christmas is supposed to be like, when you have to follow the rules.”

“But, see, for us? We gets to be _rulebreakers,”_ Jack explains. “Santa himself said so! So that means we’s gonna stay in our pajamas all day, and watch movies on the TV and eat cookies and chips and, and just do whatever we want to. We don’t have to do any chores, don’t have to clean up at all for the whole day!” 

There's another pair of excited gasps, Tony and Charlie both starting to respond to the narrative Jack’s spinning. “I’ll get your toys set up for you and you can play with ‘em as long as you want, as loud as you want—Snyder ain’t here!” 

And then it hits Jack, something he can do for the boys that’s special, using the limited items at his disposal. “And the first thing we’re gonna do is make a Christmas pillow fort.”

“What’s a Christmas pillow fort?” Tony asks eagerly.

“It’s like a regular pillow fort but even better, ‘cause it gets to stay up all day and all night and it’s _giant_ —we’ll have to push the couch outta the way, that’s how big it’s gonna be—and ‘cause you only get to have one if Santa himself gives you permission,” Jack says. “Which is very hard to come by, 'cause Christmas pillow forts are a trade secret, ya know? Very hush-hush.”

“We can keep a secret!” Tony promises. “Right, Charlie?”

“Yeah, it’sa secret!” Charlie agrees, miming locking his lips and throwing away the key.

“First things first, we gotta gather our fort making supplies,” Jack says, relieved that this makeshift plan seems to be working. “Tony, you’re gonna grab all the blankets and sheets off our beds, okay? And Charlie, you’re gonna get all the pillows and stack ‘em up for me, okay?”

The boys race away to do as instructed, talking and giggling as they go. Jack uses the brief reprieve to let out a sigh of relief, then starts pushing furniture out of the way to clear a large space in the middle of the living room floor: smack dab in front of the TV and close, but not too close, to the radiator. He turns the couch to face the other way, thinking that they can use the back of it to hold the fort up, then snatches up all the couch cushions and places them to the side.

He squeezes past Charlie and Tony in the hallway—Charlie’s got two pillows tucked beneath his arm, another two looped through the spaces in his crutch, and you can just barely see Tony’s head from underneath the mountain of bedding he’s carrying, the tail end of a sheet dragging along the floor behind him. Jack eases his mattress off its bedframe and lugs it into the living room, going back twice more for Tony and Charlie’s mattresses. Then, they get to work constructing their fort.

Tony and Charlie can only help so much since they’re just munchkins, but they seem to get a kick out of telling Jack how drape the sheets _just exactly right_ , deciding where all the pillows should go, and testing out if they want to sit on the mattresses or use them as fort walls. Jack finishes the whole thing off with a box of string lights he’d picked up back before he realized that Snyder wasn’t gonna let them have a Christmas tree, and it all looks… nice. Really nice, actually, all cozy and festive and fun.

“Great job boys,” Jack praises, giving Tony and Charlie a round of high-fives. “And now, the snacks!”

They’ve got two family sized bags of doritos and an unopened box of oreos with the red holiday filling in the pantry. He lets Tony carry their glasses over to the designated ‘Drink Spot’ Jack created to help prevent spills—”One at a time, Tones,” Jack reminds him—and soon enough they’re all pilling into their first ever Christmas Pillow Fort.

It’s a little snug, but in the best possible way. Jack’s got a kid on each side of him, one tucked under each arm, sharing blankets and food and laughs. Charlie finds them a rerun of the original, animated, ‘Dr. Seuss’, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!’ to watch, Thomas the Tank Engine perched in a place of honor next to him, while Jack helps Tony get his racetrack set up and running. 

Jack already knows he’s gonna have a hell of a time getting all the crumbs swept up later and it looks like tomorrow’s gonna have to be a laundry day, now that all the linens are dirty, but he lets all of those worries go for now, just trying to relax and enjoy the holiday. Because it’s Christmas, and Tony and Charlie deserve to have the best day Jack can give them. As long as they’re happy… it’s all worth it.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Jack says.

“Merry Christmas, Jack!” his brothers chirp back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @livininmyhead on tumblr for the prompt that inspired this fic! Guess I know what I'm working on over the holidays... ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely <3


	2. The Third Christmas

“You’re making the left side all crooked!”

“No, I’m not!"

“Yes, you are, it’s all ugly and lopsided!”

“Well, maybe if you’d stop _hogging all the blankets!”_

“Well, maybe if you’d _shut your face!”_

Jack’s got one eye on the chaos currently taking place in the living-room-turned-construction-site, the other on the pot of Easy Mac he’s got working up on the stove. The boys are in the middle of building the Christmas Pillow Fort, though it’s been stop and start all morning, with the two of them pausing every few minutes to argue about how the other is doing it wrong. 

Jack only tried to intervene the once—Tony and Charlie had called a temporary truce to team up against him instead, shooing him away with the explanation that he’s too lame and too tall to help and that ‘we’re not _babies_ , Jack, we got it!’ Though, given that their efforts have since devolved into an impromptu pillow fight, with shouts of ‘ _you suck_ ,’ ‘ _your face is stupid_ ,’ and ‘ _because_ _Jack said so!’_ punctuated by the soft _thuwmp_ of cushions hitting bodies, Jack thinks he can be forgiven for assuming they might've needed his help.

But all in all, this Christmas is looking to be one of the best ones yet, and certainly the best one that the boys can remember. Jack had finally turned sixteen at the beginning of the month, and though it was late in the season, he’d managed to pick up some temp work covering holiday rush shifts at the grocery store, so there’d been extra money for better presents and better food this year. And, judging by the wide smiles and overjoyed thanks he’d received when handing over the presents this morning— _Two presents each for both of them! Jack had actually managed it!_ —the boys were more than pleased with their haul.

Though, really, if Jack’d had it his way, he’d of already been working somewhere—an actual part-time job, not just scrounging for seasonal work—but Snyder wouldn’t let him start working until his last birthday, afraid that if Jack had a job too young it would ‘make him look bad,’ the bastard. 

Because the underfed children in his care were nothing to worry about _, obviously._

Jack’s distracted from his lunch efforts by a sharp _rap!_ _rap!_ _rap!_ of knuckles knocking against the front door, followed by a pause where he thinks whoever it is must’ve tried the doorbell, only to realize that it doesn’t work. He wipes his hands on a dish cloth and turns the burner down, figuring that Tony and Charlie won’t be able to kill each other in the time it takes for him to answer the door, _probably_ , and wanders over to check it out. 

He can’t imagine who’d be knocking on Christmas of all days, and especially in this weather, but when he opens the front door he finds Davey standing on the doorstep, bundled up in several layers with a large canvas bag thrown over one of his shoulders.

“Dave!” Jack says, startled but pleased. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

“Hi, Jackie,” Davey says, voice muffled by the scarf covering the bottom half of his face, bright blue eyes peeking out from underneath a woolen hat. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jack greets back automatically, then flushes, shaking his head. “Or, no, sorry, Happy Hanukkah.”

It’s hard for Jack to read his expression but he thinks he sees Davey’s eyes crinkle up at the corners—an indication of a smile. Jack’s heart does a funny little hop-skip in his chest. 

“Thanks,” Davey says. 

“Here, come on in,” Jack says, opening the door a little wider.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You ain’t intrudin’,” Jack insists. “And besides, we’re lettin’ all the warm air out.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” Davey says, stepping into the entrance hall. 

“Can you stay a while?” Jack asks, eager to keep Davey in his space for as long as he can, a soft feeling fluttering in his stomach. “I can take your coat, fix you somethin’ to drink, or get you a snack, if you're hungry?”

“That sounds nice,” Davey says, and he sounds like he really means it. “But I can’t stay for long. I had a hard enough time convincing my Ma to let me come out in the first place, what with the snow and all. If I’m not home soon she’ll be worried.”

“Oh, okay,” Jack says, disappointed, and then feeling stupid that he’s disappointed in the first place. What, was he gonna serve Davey up a bowl of Easy Mac? Show him the wonders of the pillow fort?

Davey, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice the dip in Jack’s mood. “I just wanted to make sure I got these to you,” he says, letting the canvas bag he’s carrying slip off his shoulder and into his hand, holding it out to Jack in offering. “I didn’t want to bother you over break, but you weren’t at school on Friday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack says lamely, not wanting to get into how Charlie and Tony’s school had a half day on Friday because of the holiday, forcing Jack to cut class so he’d be able to pick them up on time. “What is it, my makeup work? Thanks for pickin' that up for me, I really can’t afford to miss any more English assignments.”

“No, it’s not that,” Davey says. “Or, well, actually it is, but it’s not just your homework…”

Davey keeps talking but Jack doesn’t hear the rest of the explanation, though he doesn’t need to once he peers into the bag. Because it’s stacked full of presents, each wrapped in shiny blue paper dotted with silver snowflakes, tied neatly with white ribbon.

“Merry Christmas?” Davey offers, and he looks a little uncertain, fidgeting nervously with the fringe on his scarf. 

“You got me a Christmas present?” Jack asks, numbly.

“You and the boys,” Davey confirms with a nod. “Just a little something for the holiday.”

“You didn’t hafta do that, Dave,” Jack says, still not quite processing. “I don’t wantcha to waste your money on me.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” Davey says. “I wanted to.” Then he reaches out and swats Jack across the shoulder with his gloved hand. “And it’s not a waste of money, it’s a gift.”

“But…” Jack’s face feels hot, some mix of surprise, embarrassment, and joy. “But I don’t got nothin’ for you.”

“Jackie, just take the presents,” Davey says, in that fondly exasperated tone that Jack has quickly gotten accustomed to over the last few months, “and don’t worry about it. _I wanted to._ And it’s not like I need a Christmas present.” 

“But Hanukkah—“

“—Isn’t the same thing,” Davey interrupts, kindly but firmly. “We exchange presents, sure, but Hanukkah isn’t, like, the Jewish version of Christmas. Really, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Jack says, and his voice a little raspy as he chokes back a sudden wave of emotion, but if Davey notices he’s nice enough not to mention it. “Hey, are you sure ya can’t stay for a sec? Race and Charlie would love to see ya.”

But Davey shakes his head. “I really do need to get home,” he says, apologetic, turning back towards the door. “But tell them Merry Christmas from me, okay?”

“Will do,” Jack says. “And tell your folks Happy Hanukkah from us.”

“I will,” Davey says with a soft smile. “Have a good break, Jackie.”

Jack really wants to hug him, but he can’t with the stack of presents in his arms. He settles for a nod and a sort-of wave. “You too, Dave.”

Jack stands there for a short while, watching Davey’s trek down the sidewalk through the window until he disappears from view. Then he makes his way into the living room.

“Hey, Racer, Charlie,” Jack says. “Time out for a second.”

Tony’s head pops up from where he’s lying half on top of Charlie, pushing his brother’s face against the floor. “I didn’t do it,” he says.

“Well, _I didn’t do it,”_ Charlie retorts, his indignant pout muffled somewhat by the carpet.

“Did I say anyone did anything?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Keep this up and you're gonna make me think I shouldn’t give ya these nice presents...”

“There’s more presents?” Race exclaims, jumping to his feet. “Where?!”

“Slow your roll there, _conejito,”_ Jack laughs. “They ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He gestures to the bag hanging over his shoulder. “Davey stopped by,” he explains. "He couldn’t stay but he brought us some Christmas presents.”

He waits for the boys to gather around, then hands out the presents: one for each of them, and a final one for Jack. Tony and Charlie tear right into theirs, gleeful, but Jack takes a moment to just look at his own gift—inspecting the shiny foiled paper and the neatly folded corners, the curly white ribbon and the cheery holiday tag that reads ‘Jack’ in precise, rounded letters.

It’s been years since he’s gotten a Christmas present. It’s almost like his body doesn’t remember what to do with one.

The boys have no such qualms. 

“Ooh!” Tony exclaims, pulling a mass of cherry-red yarn out of his package. “Jack, look!” It’s a hat, scarf, and mitten set, perfectly sized for a eight year old, soft and warm and perfect for New York winter.

“I got one too!” Charlie says, uncovering a matching set, this one done up in pine green. He tugs the hat onto his head, then wraps himself up in his scarf, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. 

“Oh, and look what else!” Tony says. There’s a pair of DVDs tucked in between the knitwear: a copy of ‘The Lion King’ and ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.’ A second glance into Charlie’s present reveals copies of ‘The Princess Bride’ and ‘How to Train Your Dragon.’

Jack takes a shaky breath, a lump settling somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Jack, aren't cha gonna open yours?” Charlie asks, innocently clueless.

“Yeah, of course I am Choo-choo,” Jack says, and he’s glad the boys are distracted by their gifts, because while he’s managing to keep his voice steady, he’s not sure he can hide the wetness pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Cautiously, he rips the paper off his own gift. The first thing he finds is another hat, scarf, and mitten set, this one done in a rich, charcoal gray. It’s soft as anything, thick and plush, and Jack can already imagine how useful it’ll be in the coming months. 

He feels something hard nestled underneath, and at first he thinks it must be another pair of DVDs—he’s sensing something of a theme with all of this. But when Jack investigates further, he instead finds a sketchbook. It’s a simple, solid thing, with a sturdy black cover and creamy white pages. The label on the back tells him that the paper is weighted for pencils, charcoal, inks, and water colors—all of Jack’s preferred mediums, except that he’s sure he’s never told Davey any of that.

“Jack, can we watch this?” Tony asks, holding up the copy of ‘How to Train Your Dragon.’ “It’s s’pposed to be really good!”

“Sure we can, baby,” Jack says, running a trembling finger along the first page of the sketchbook, basking in the texture and scent of the fresh, crisp paper. “Go set up the DVD player and get the fort finished up. I’ll dish up our lunch and be right there.”

Slotted inside the book’s front cover is one last surprise—a $25 dollar prepaid phone card for Jack’s cell phone. There a sticky note stuck to it that simply reads:

_So you can actually call me back :)_

Jack huffs out a laugh, then slips the note safely into his pocket, packing his gifts carefully back into their box. “Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, smiling to himself. “I think I can make that happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely :D


	3. The Sixth Christmas

Jack nudges the door shut with his shoulder, stopping to stomp his boots against the mat in the entryway before making his way into the kitchen. 

His boys have been plenty busy in the half hour he’s been gone: Davey, Tony, and Charlie are gathered around the kitchen table in what has clearly become the designated Latke Zone. Charlie is sitting on top of the table, grating the last of the peeled potatoes, his brow furrowed in careful concentration, and Davey’s talking Tony through dicing an onion, instructing, “—and you keep your knuckles curled under like this, see, so you don’t cut your fingers.” 

The scene is underscored by the soft hum of Christmas carols playing on the radio and the flurry of snow visible through the window. Jack lingers in the doorway for a moment, a smile spreading across his face of its own accord as he takes it all in, fingers itching for a pen and paper. 

He shakes the daydream away.

“Delivery,” Jack announces, setting the grocery bag on the counter top. 

“Hey, Jack,” Davey greets, then has to catch Tony’s wrist in his hand when he starts to wave while holding his knife. “Careful, Tones.”

“Sorry,” Tony says sheepishly. “Hi, Jack.”

“How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good so far,” Davey says letting Tony get back to his task. “I think we’ve almost got everything ready. Did you have any trouble finding the schmaltz?”

“I think I got whatcha wanted,” Jack says, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. Davey had given him the name and address of the kosher butcher he’d needed to go to and told him exactly what to ask for, and yet he’s still worried he’s messed it up somehow. “But I can run back out if it ain’t right.”

Davey peeks into the grocery bags, unearths the container, and gives an approving nod. 

“Perfect,” he says. “Thanks Jackie.”

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly those simple words make the flutter in Jack’s chest steady and settle.

“Yeah, no problem,” he answers.

“Davey, is this enough potato?” Charlie pipes up, shaking a cramp out of his hand, gesturing at the mound of potato piled in front of him.

Davey moves over, staring down at the mass with a critical eye. 

“Yeah, that should be plenty,” he says, scooping the potatoes up and dumping them out onto a dishtowel. 

“I think this is done too,” Tony says, carefully scraping the bits of onion that have stuck to his knife off onto the cutting board. 

“Looks good,” Davey says. He sweeps a few stray potato pieces off of Charlie’s shirt and into the trash can that’s been positioned next to the table, leans down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head, then goes back over to Tony and gives him the same treatment. “Great work, boys.”

“Do you need anythin’ else?” Tony asks, glowing faintly at the praise.

“I think I’ve got it from here,” Davey says, ruffling his hair. “But thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome,” Charlie chirps with a wide smile, hopping down from the table.

“Welcome,” Tony echoes. “Can we watch TV now?”

“Wash your hands,” Davey reminds them, spreading the onions out onto the same dishcloth with the potatoes, folding the mixture up in the towel and patting the moisture out. “But go ahead.”

As the boys skip away, Jack steps into the bit of clear space at Davey’s side. 

“Anythin’ else need doin’?” he asks.

“Can you grab the eggs for me?” Davey replies. “And the flour and the baking powder?”

“Got it.”

Davey gets the batter mixed together, seasoning it all with a good helping of salt and pepper, then carries the bowl into the kitchen, the container of schmaltz tucked under his arm. He sets a cast iron skillet on the stove and turns on the eye, scoops out a hardy spoonful of fat and lets it melt, then pours some oil over top.

“It’s good of you to do all’a this,” Jack says, as Davey drops the latke batter into the pan with a sizzling _hiss._

“It would’ve been good of me to remember to ask Mama if I could borrow some of her schmaltz before we left last night,” Davey says with a scoff, prodding at the batter with his spatula, flattening the drops out into little disks. “Then I wouldn’t’ve had to send you out to the store in this godforsaken weather.”

“Nah, I don’t mind,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I mean, you’re the one that’s doing the hard part. And when you didn’t have’ta.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Davey says, adjusting the temperature of the eye. “I just hope they turn out alright. Mama has this way of getting them perfectly crispy on the outside while keeping the insides soft—I haven’t quite mastered it. But hopefully the boys won’t mind.”

“They’ll like them because you’re the one making ‘em,” Jack says, trying a different tactic. “Because you’re making ‘em special, just for them.”

“Well, they asked me to,” Davey says simply, still not getting it. “It’s not like I mind.”

“But you’re still goin’ outta your way,” Jack counters. “I mean, they gorged themselves on the things last night, practically ate your folks outta house and home, then woke up this mornin’ beggin’ for more, and even though we didn’t have the ingredients for ‘em, plus the fact that Hanukkah ended yesterday and half the city’s closed for Christmas, you still made it happen. _I’m jus’ sayin’,_ it’s a nice thing to do.”

“Jackie, it’s just latkes,” Davey says, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t need to thank me, or whatever it is you’re trying to do—”

“But I _do_ need to thank you,” Jack insists, frustrated with his inability to get his point across. “I do ‘cause it’s… _because I…”_

He doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t have the words to encapsulate how _nice_ this all is, how different, yet familiar, and impossibly _better_ this holiday season has been than all the others: how great it was to have someone to help him with holiday shopping, how much he loved getting to hang strings of blue and white lights across their balcony and put their first Christmas tree up in the living room, how every time he sees Davey’s menorah sitting on the coffee table with his and the boys’ stockings hanging on the wall behind the couch, he can’t help but smile, how strange and exciting it was to get roped into the Jacobs’ Hanukkah traditions—not asked, not invited, but folded right in, like it was never a question at all that he and the boys would be a part of it all—how he’d nearly cried last night, watching Les walk Tony and Charlie through their first game of dreidel, because he’s just been so desperately _happy_ that he feels like he might burst with it.

And right at the center of it all is Davey: the best friend and co-parent and partner that Jack could’ve ever wanted or asked for. He’s so thankful, every single goddamn day of his life, to have Davey at his side. 

Jack wants to tell him, wants him to know how deeply appreciated he is, but he can’t figure out how to phrase it. There just aren’t words to encompass the depth of this feeling. 

How could there be?

But Davey looks at him and seems to read the heart of the matter right off of Jack’s face. His expression softens, his eyes warm with tender affection, and he curls his free hand around Jack’s forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay, Jack,” he says with a soft smile. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Jack says hesitantly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Davey promises. “You and Tony and Charlie? You’re family. You don’t need to thank me.”

Jack swallows heavily, throat thick with sudden emotion. “Alright,” he whispers.

Blinking through the sting in his eyes, he continues, “Uh... speakin’ of family, are we still goin’ back up to your folks’ place for New Year’s?”

Davey watches him a second longer, a hint of concern in his gaze, but he lets Jack change the subject without comment because he’s good like that. 

“That’s what Mama said when she called this morning,” Davey answers, sliding the first set of latkes out of the pan and onto a wire rack to drain. “Though, she mentioned that if the weather ends up being bad, then she’d understand if we decided to stay in.”

“Are we supposed to be getting a lot more snow?” Jack asks, confused.

“Like, two inches, maybe, the night before,” Davey says. “I tried to tell her that, even if it does snow, the roads and sidewalks would be clear by New Year’s Eve, but you know how she is.”

“Well, we’ll see how it goes,” Jack says, fingers creeping casually towards the stack of fresh latkes as Davey gets the next set frying. 

Davey slaps his hand away without a hint of mercy. “Don’t even try it, Kelly.”

“Aw, Dave,” Jack whines. “Where’s your holiday spirit?’

“Holiday spirit isn’t gonna keep you from burning the shit out of your mouth,” Davey says. “There should still be some gelt in the cabinet above the fridge if you want something to snack on while these finish.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Jack says. 

He finds the bag of chocolate coins and immediately unwraps three of them and crams them into his mouth. 

“Do we need to bring anything?” Jack asks. “That’s like, the thing to do, it’nit?”

“We could bring a small something,” Davey says, working his spatula under a latke and flipping it. “Mama will have the mains covered, but we could bring cookies or chips? Maybe a liter of soda? I’ll ask her when she calls next.”

“Or, we could make somethin’ too, couldn’t we?” Jack says.

“Do you want to make something?” Davey asks, stealing a piece of gelt from Jack’s pile, tearing away the foil, and placing it right on the center of his tongue with a teasing smirk. Jack’s stomach jolts and jitters. “We can if you want to.”

“I could make a pan of cheesecake brownies,” Jack suggests, opening up another piece and offering it to him, watching the way Davey's lips close delicately around the chocolate coin. “The ones I made when we first moved in? Do you think they’d like ‘em?”

“Those were fucking fantastic,” Davey says. “If they don’t like them, I’m perfectly fine eating them all myself.” He pauses, head tilting to the side. “You should make extras, so we can keep some here.”

Jack laughs. “Okay, remind me to get extra butter when we go to the store next and I’ll handle it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Davey agrees, turning to Jack with a smile—a gorgeous little thing that lights up his whole face—and as he does, Jack notices a dark smudge on the side of his mouth.

“Oh, wait, you’ve got a bit of chocolate...” Jack says, reaching up without thinking about it, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until after he’s already dragged his thumb across the corner of Davey’s mouth, stopping to rest right on the fullest part of his lower lip, his forefinger curled under Davey’s chin. 

Davey looks back at him, his expression slack with surprise and his cheeks a bit pink. He’s probably wondering what the hell Jack is doing. Jack’s wondering much the same. 

“There,” Jack rasps out, finally connecting the broken fuse in his brain that’s responsible for all his terrible, terrible decisions and dropping his hand from Davey’s face. “That’s better.” 

What Jack should do next his wipe his hands clean or give ‘em a quick rinse in the sink or, hell, take a cleaver and chop ‘em off at the wrist—anything except for what he does next, which is his stick his thumb in his mouth and swirl his tongue around it, licking it clean. 

Davey’s eyes go a touch wider, his face flushing that much deeper. He clears his throat a few times, looking distinctly flustered; Jack can’t even imagine what he’s thinking—he’s probably embarrassed on Jack’s behalf.

“Thanks,” Davey eventually gets out.

“No problem,” Jack breathes back.

“Uh…” says Tony. 

Jack stumbles back a step, his and Davey's heads whipping around to look: Tony’s standing just behind them, eyes darting back and forth between him and Davey. He holds up the glass in his hand, which is almost empty. 

“I need some more juice?” Tony says, but his voice lilts up at the end in question.

“Sure,” Jack says, running a hand through his hair. The back of his neck feels hot, his heart pounding against his ribcage. “Yeah, sure, bud.”

“So, can I get into the fridge?” Tony asks.

“Go ahead,” Jack says.

Tony looks at him like he’s a complete moron. “Jack, you’re blocking the fridge.”

“Right,” Jack says, moving to the side. He accidentally bumps into Davey and his hands dart out instinctively to steady him, but he rethinks the impulse mid-motion, diverting at the last second and stuffing his hands in his pockets instead. “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll just—” He backs up the other way and knocks into Tony. _“Sorry!_ I can— I’ll go— I’ll just stand over here.”

 _“Idiota,”_ Tony mutters under his breath as he passes.

 _"_ _Cállate, Tonio,”_ Jack hisses back. 

“The latkes are done,” Davey announces, mercifully oblivious to the exchange. His face is still distinctly pink. “Someone get Charlie.”

“I’ll go,” Jack offers immediately, latching onto the excuse. He needs a second away from Davey and his stupidly pretty eyes. “Dish me up a plate?”

“Do you want applesauce?” Davey asks.

Jack pauses, frowning. “Do we got any sour cream?”

“You absolute heathen,” Davey says mildly, and he’s starting to sound a bit more like himself, his voice dropping back into its usual register instead of the panicked squeak from before. “Les got to you, didn’t he?”

“Sour cream, _cielito,”_ Jack says, the pet name slipping out without him meaning it to. Tony hits him with a look that’s twice as judgmental as the previous one. “Pretty please?”

“Fine,” Davey grumbles lightly. “I guess if I _have to."_

“You’re the light of my life, Dave,” Jack says.

Tony sighs, loudly. Jack’s ears burn. 

“Be right back,” he mutters, then he turns on his heel and flees before he can embarrass himself any further.

_Jesus Christ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen... I really thought I'd be able to finish this before the end of the year... but Happy New Year I guess.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr! @LiveSincerely :)


	4. The Eleventh Christmas

“You’re shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!” 

“Yes you are, you dirty cheater!”

“You’re just mad ‘cause _I’m winning—”_

“You wouldn’t be winning if you weren’t _shaking the table—”_

“Hey, chill the fuck out,” Jack interjects, wandering over to investigate before things can get out of hand. “We’re gonna get another noise complaint.”

“Charlie’s cheating!” Tony insists. “He’s shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!” Charlie denies. “Tony’s just a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser!’

“Well, you’re definitely not winning!”

 _“I said,_ chill out,” Jack says firmly. “Or I’m gonna be the one sweeping the pot.”

“Aw, Jack!” they whine in unison.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jack says. “Choo-Choo, stop shaking the table,” —Charlie ducks his head, pouting— “and Racer, stop stealing from Charlie’s pile when he ain’t lookin’,” —Tony’s eyes go wide— “yeah, Tones, I saw that.”

There’s a few grumbles, but no real arguments. 

Satisfied that he’s halted World War Dreidel, at least for now, Jack goes back to the living room and crawls into the Pillow Fort. 

“Everything okay?” Davey asks, lifting his arm so that Jack can snuggle back into his side. 

“Just another throw down,” Jack says, resting his head against Davey’s chest. “You know how they get.”

“There’s no mercy in dreidel,” Davey says, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Only annihilation and bragging rights.”

Jack laughs softly. “Yeah, I think they’ve really taken that rule to heart, _querido._ They’re planning total domination and they ain’t afraid to go through each other to get it.”

He takes another moment to get good and comfortable—arms tucked around Davey’s waist, one hand slipping up under Davey’s shirt to sit against the curve of his stomach. Davey throws his legs over Jack’s, his arm a warm weight across Jack’s shoulders, and he tugs a blanket up to cover them.

Davey asks, “Good?”

“Go for it,” Jack murmurs.

Davey unearths the remote from their nest of pillows and hits play; the dvd picks up right where they left it before Jack got up, with Hiccup finding Toothless in the quarry.

They’re watching the movie and not watching the movie. They’ve probably seen it about a hundred times, it’s not like they don’t know what’s gonna happen, so it’s sort of just on for background noise and because it wouldn’t be Christmas without it. Mostly they’re just sitting together, enjoying each others’ company as the last few hours of the day wind down. 

It’s been an impossibly hectic holiday season: Davey’s semester didn’t end until the 20th, leaving only a couple of days for frantic Hanukkah shopping and barely more than that for last-minute Christmas shopping. There’s still a handful of nights of Hanukkah left—they’re spending the rest of the week at the Jacobs’ to finish out the holiday, then ringing in the New Year the night after, leaving tonight as the only lull in the madness. 

Well, considering the muffled arguing he can still hear coming from the kitchen table, there’s never really a lull in the madness. But lying here, settled in with Davey’s fingers combing through his hair and his heartbeat beneath his ear, the boys happy and whole just a few feet away… Jack can’t imagine anything better.

He shifts slightly, tipping his head up just enough to see: Davey’s looking towards the TV, his expression soft with relaxation and a hint of sleepiness, the fairly lights casting a gentle glow across his features and leaving specks of color dancing in his eyes.

Jack’s heart does a little loop-de-loop around his chest. He never gets tired of looking at Davey. He’s pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life looking at Davey.

“What’re you thinking about so hard, Jackie, love?” Davey asks after a while.

Jack curls around him that much more, his hands sliding up to splay wide over Davey’s ribcage. 

“Nothin’,” he says, quietly content. “Still jus’ thinkin’ about tomorrow.”

Davey hums in acknowledgement, his nails scratching lightly at the nape of Jack’s neck. “Mama’s been hinting that she wants us down there as soon as physically possible. She sounded pretty frazzled—I think Les must be driving them all a bit crazy, waiting.”

“What, and she thinks adding us into the mix is gonna grant her some peace?” Jack asks with a snort. “Charlie, Tony, and Les might distract each other for a while, maybe, but there’s no way whatever Les is puttin’ her through now is worse than whatever the three of ‘em together will cook up and unleash. But either way, I’m not goin’ anywhere until we get at least two loads of laundry done because that sucked ass last year, coming home to a shit-ton of dirty sheets and blankets.”

“Yeah, I figured we wouldn’t be getting there until early afternoon-ish,” Davey says. “I told her maybe 2pm or 3? And, at this point I think she’d take the chaos if it meant she could get a few hours in the kitchen, uninterrupted, without Les trying to talk her into a round of dreidel. Apparently he’s taking the tournament very seriously this year.”

“There’s somethin more serious than whatever the fuck went down last year? I didn’t think that was possible,” Jack says. He pauses for a moment, considering. ”Oh, hell, what am I sayin’? This is Les, Charlie, and Tony we’re talkin’ about.”

“Yeah, Mama said the same thing,” Davey agrees. “She specifically mentioned that they’re setting aside a separate table just for dreidel—somewhere safely away from any food or drinks or breakable glassware, presumably.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Jack says. “Though, I’m tellin’ ya now, if anyone ends up with sufganiyot in their hair again, I’m groundin’ both of ‘em ‘til Easter.”

“God, can you even imagine?” Davey says, laughing. “I thought Sarah was gonna murder all three of them.”

“I thought Racer was gonna shatter a window, with how loud he screamed when she started chasin’ him,” Jack adds. “Then, remember? We found him hidin’ under your old bed?”

“Oh my god,” Davey says, his laughter bubbling up into a full on giggle. “I totally forgot about that!”

Maybe it’s the holiday getting to him. Maybe it’s the bit of eggnog he had earlier or the smell of pine and the hint of candle smoke in the air or maybe it’s just the way that Davey’s looking at him, expression bright and his eyes crinkled up at the corners, but suddenly Jack’s heart feels too big in his chest—like his entire self might burst open.

“What?” Davey asks, still smiling, when he notices Jack staring at him. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when we were at your parents house?” Jack asks. “Not last Hanukkah, but the one before that? When you first started your grad program?”

“What about it?” 

“It was, like, a week before Christmas, a coupl’a days into Hanukkah,” Jack starts, thinking back. “I picked you up from campus right after your last test, already had the car packed and the boys bickering in the backseat, and between the snow and the holiday traffic, it took us, like, four hours just to get to your parents house, and I loved every fucking minute of it. ‘Cause you’d moved out, an’ you had classes an’ finals an’ a whole fucking _graduate dorm_ an’ it felt like I hadn’t seen you in weeks, _weeks,_ after four years of livin’ in each other’s back pockets an’ I missed you so fucking much. You weren’t even twenty minutes away but it felt like you were _gone, all’a the time—”_

Jack’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling, and he’s not sure if he’s even making any sense. But Davey makes no move to interrupt him, listening with that quiet intensity of his, eyes wide and warm.

“—and I’d spent all of fall looking forward to the end of your semester because then I’d have you for a whole month. A whole month, where things could be like they were, like they were s’pposed to be. I’d get to make ya coffee in the morning and hear ya singin’ in the shower and see ya reading on the couch when I got home from work. I was so excited, but I hadn’t realized yet, you know? I didn’t _know_.”

He pauses for a breath, heart fluttering a little in his chest, then continues.

“But then, that evening at your parents… you never sleep the night before you have a big test, always stay up too late studying and worrying, and sure enough, you were passed out before Jeopardy even came on, absolutely exhausted. I hadta carry you upstairs later; your Ma had made up your old room for us so I just tucked you in, then slipped into bed beside you. I didn’t think anythin’ of it ‘cause we always share and you didn’t even wake up, just kept on sleepin’. But then, the next morning…”

Jack raises a hand and drags his thumb gently over the ridge of Davey’s forehead.

“You always get a little wrinkle right here, when you ain’t been sleepin’ enough,” he murmurs, rubbing away an imaginary crease between Davey’s brows. “Tension, I guess. It’s how I can always tell that you ain’t been taking care of yourself. But that next morning, I woke up and you’d sort of curled around me in your sleep, half on top of me. My whole fucking arm was numb ‘cause of how you were lyin' on it but I didn’t dare move ‘cause you looked so _comfortable._ No wrinkle, no crease, no frown… and I just kept lookin’ atcha an’ lookin’ atcha…”

His hand slides down, cupping around the side of Davey’s face. Jack looks him right in the eyes and says, “And suddenly I thought to myself, _‘Holy shit,_ I am apocalyptically in love with this man.’”

There’s the tiniest sound of an inhaled breath, Davey’s throat working beneath his palm. 

“‘Cause I hadn’t known, ya know? But once I did—once I realized—then I _knew._ I figured out right then and there that all I wanted was you, that all I’d ever wanted was you, and the boys, and all of us together for as long as I could keep ya. That I’d wanted you since ya brought me that hat and scarf ‘cause you wanted me to be warm, an’ the phone card ‘cause you wanted us to be able to talk, an’ the sketchbook ‘cause you wanted me to have something _just for having,_ and it hurt so bad because it was too late, you’d already moved out, you were pullin' away, an’ I had a whole month of fucking torture because I had you right where I wanted you but I didn’t _actually have you—”_

Davey leans that barest bit closer and kisses him, long and slow. 

“You’ve always had me,” he promises. “Jackie, you’ve always—”

“But I didn’t _know_ ,” Jack says. “And you didn’t know that you had me. But really, the whole time we could’ve been—”

“We were idiots,” Davey agrees, pressing his forehead to Jack’s. “But what else is new?”

“I love you,” Jack says, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “I love you so much, Davey. You don’t even realize how much I love you.”

“Sure I do,” Davey says, his voice a little wet, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze. “It’s about as much as I love you. Now stop it before you make me cry.”

“Love of my life,” Jack says. “‘M so lucky to have you.”

_“Jack.”_

Jack smiles, lifting their clasped hands up to his mouth and pressing a lingering kiss to Davey’s knuckles.

“Happy Hanukkah, Dave.”

“Merry Christmas, Jackie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr @LiveSincerely


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